Don't Say Anything
by KathyG
Summary: This is an AU story, a fix-it. What if, in "The Great Game," things had gone differently for the third hostage? What if, instead of the old blind woman being killed by Moriarty's sniper, Lestrade had been able to intervene to calm her down and save her life? This story explores that what-if scenario. One-shot.


**Don't Say Anything**

 **By KathyG**

 **This is an AU story, a fix-it. What if, in "The Great Game," things had gone differently for the third hostage? What if, instead of the old blind woman being killed by Moriarty's sniper, Lestrade had been able to intervene to calm her down and save her life? This story explores that what-if scenario. Thanks to besleybean, from the BBC Sherlock Fan Forum, for beta-reading and Brit-picking my story!**

"Connection, connection, connection," Sherlock said under his breath. As Detective Inspector Lestrade watched Sherlock, with his arms folded across his chest, the consulting detective paced restlessly back and forth in front of his couch, his hands steepled under his chin. His shoes clicked on the floor as he did so. "There must be a connection." He stopped, lightly touched his nose, and began to gesture towards various pictures, letters, and articles practically covering the map that he had, in turn, earlier tacked onto his living-room wall above the sofa. Behind him and to his left, sunlight poured through the windows, forming rectangles of light on the floor. "Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him, admitted that he knew him! The bomber's iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What's he doing—working his way round the world? Showing off?" He gestured wildly as he spoke, holding his right hand toward the photos and articles in question, followed by his left, after which he held up both hands and dropped them as he finished off.

In that moment, the pink phone in his right trouser pocket rang. Upon removing it from his pocket, Sherlock noticed that on the Caller I.D. screen was once again the words, " _NUMBER BLOCKED"_. As soon as the old blind woman began to speak, Lestrade, looking at the consulting detective, realized that Sherlock knew that she was once again narrating what was being spoken into her earpiece.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Lestrade overheard her say. "Joining the…dots." She began to sob. "Three hours: boom…boom." She cried in terror.

"Hand me the phone, Sherlock," Lestrade said, holding out his hand. With a nod, Sherlock gave it to him. Holding it to his ear, Lestrade said in a soothing voice, "Madam? This is Detective Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard. Don't say anything to me unless your captor allows you to; we want you to be alive when this is over."

He paused; the woman's sobs subsided. His voice still soothing, he added, "Sherlock Holmes is renowned for his ability to solve puzzles, and I promise you—he _will_ solve this one in time. Just hold tight, madam. When he has announced its solution, your abductor _will_ permit you to be freed."

The woman didn't say anything, but he could tell from the change in her breathing that she was calming down. Still soothing, Lestrade said, "We'll be waiting for your next call."

The phone's dial tone came back on, and Lestrade handed it back to Sherlock. After looking at the D.I. for a moment, Sherlock switched the phone back off, stuffed it back into his pocket. He glanced at Lestrade, and then raised his hands back to his mouth in the prayer position. He concentrated on the wall in front of him, his eyes intent.

Lestrade took a deep breath. _You'd better hurry, Sherlock! A woman's life is on the line._

 **XXXXXXX**

A few hours later, night had fallen, and Sherlock and John were in Lestrade's office. The overhead light softly flooded the entire office, and the radiator hummed softly in the background. Sherlock had just told the detective inspector that Raoul de Santos had murdered the TV makeover expert, Connie Prince. With Lestrade standing to his right and John to his left, Sherlock sat down at Lestrade's desk. He laid the pink phone on its smooth, polished surface, opened the D.I. laptop, and typed the puzzle's solution onto his Science of Deduction Web site. _'Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox.'_

Almost instantly, the pink phone rang.

Sherlock picked it up and held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Help me," Lestrade overheard the old woman saying in an anguished voice. Lestrade came closer so that he could hear what she was saying, his shoes making soft thuds on the blue carpet. Standing on Sherlock's left side and resting his hand on the back of Lestrade's cushioned desk chair, John listened.

In a clear voice, Sherlock said, "Tell us where you are. Address."

"He was so…" the old woman said, as Lestrade listened intently. "His voice…"

"No, no, no, no," Sherlock said urgently; standing next to him, Lestrade scratched his head, and then bent over slightly, resting his fingertips on the smooth, polished corner of his desk. "Tell me nothing about him. Nothing."

"Madam?" Lestrade held out his hand, and Sherlock handed him the phone. Straightening his back, the D.I. said soothingly, "This is Detective Inspector Lestrade again, madam. Don't say anything unless he tells you to, not yet. Don't tell us anything about him just now; save those details for your statement. You're not out of danger yet, and if you say anything you're not allowed to before you're rescued, he _will_ kill you. Just tell Mr. Holmes and myself where you are, so we can send the police to rescue you. Give us the address where you are being held, madam. I am handing the phone back to Sherlock now."

Lestrade gave the phone back to Sherlock, who held it to his ear. "Where _are_ you?" he asked. As he had said to the first hostage, he added, "Tell us where you are."

In a choked, faltering voice, the woman told him where she was, and Sherlock repeated the address to Lestrade. Apparently, she was being held prisoner in her own flat. With a nod, Lestrade wrote down the address on a notepad.

Picking up his desk phone, he rang the police in Leeds, where the woman lived, explaining the situation and giving them her address. Sherlock and John watched him as he spoke into the receiver. As soon as Lestrade hung up, he took the phone from Sherlock again.

"Some police and a bomb disposal team are on their way to your flat as I speak, madam," he said. "They will have you freed just as soon as they get there. When they are ready to take your statement, _then_ you can tell them everything you know about your kidnapper, but don't say anything until you _are_ free. Just continue to hold on, madam. It will be over very soon. I will stay on the line with you until they arrive."

Several more tense minutes passed, during which time Lestrade continued to speak to her soothingly, and then he heard a door click open somewhere in the background. A moment later, a male voice came on the line. It was one of the constables who had arrived at the elderly woman's flat. "We are here," he told Lestrade. "The bomb disposal team is dismantling the Semtex as I speak, and a couple of paramedics are waiting on standby. An ambulance is waiting outside, to take her to the hospital as soon as we're done."

Lestrade shared a relieved smile with Sherlock and John, both of whom relaxed. "Thank you. I'm not sure that the old woman could have held out much longer. Did you see any signs of a sniper on the premises?"

"No, Lestrade. Whoever was holding the rifle on her must have escaped as soon as he saw us coming."

"No doubt." Lestrade nodded. "Thank you."

He hung up, handed the mobile phone back to Sherlock, and smiled wanly. "It's over now. As soon as the Semtex has been removed from her, the paramedics will take her to the hospital to be checked over, and the constables will take her statement."

John sighed. "Thank goodness!"

"Yeah," Sherlock agreed. "Come on, John. The old woman is safe now, but there are still two pips to go."

"Yeah." Lestrade exchanged a grimace with John as Sherlock pushed the chair back and rose to his feet. Two more hostages to have to rescue before it was over. Meanwhile, Lestrade had an arrest to make. Nodding good-bye at him, John followed Sherlock out the door.

 **XXXXXXX**

 **I hate it that unlike the other hostages, the blind old woman was murdered, along with several others in the building she lived in! I would have much preferred to have her rescued as well. At least, in this fix-it, I can fix that particular sequence in the way I want it.**

3


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